


Not All Nightmares Suck

by GillO



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Jossverse
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-06
Updated: 2013-08-06
Packaged: 2017-12-22 15:17:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/914768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GillO/pseuds/GillO
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At the end of S4 there were more dreams than we were shown...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not All Nightmares Suck

Vampires do dream, just as they do sleep. Not in quite the same way as humans, but it’s part of what they do and part of what they are. Spike had particularly vivid dreams after the soldier boys messed with his head – more nightmares, really. Stupid bloody nightmares, as often as not.

There was one with the Slayers he’d offed, back in the day when he wasn’t neutered. That one recurred, each time with the bints grinning and telling him he’d be finding out more about Slayers than he’d ever want to know. The Chinese girl spoke perfect English, too. That was one way to tell it was a dream.

Quite a few of the better ones involved people he’d eaten. It was fun to relive their squeals and wriggles without any bleeding head pain, and in a good dream the taste of the real stuff would linger on his tastebuds almost till he was fully awake. Not to be sniffed at in a town in which sodding pig, with or without seasoning, was the best he could hope for, and they didn’t even do a good curry, let alone a nice aromatic Bengali chef.

Sometimes he knew he was in a dream, because they were so flaming surreal. That time he swam a moat full of sneakers, leapt mountain streams, clambered up a tower on the outside, all to deliver Dru a bloody box of chocolates.

This dream was like that. He was wearing a brown suit for fuck’s sake. It was broad daylight and he was playing kiddy games with a watcher, the one who’d chained him up in a bath and fed him inadequate Weetabix in a stupid novelty mug. In front of him was the Slayer, playing in sand and stroking mud all over her pretty face.

That should have been the clue, right there. Since when had he thought longingly about her face? Since when had he wanted to do anything to her other than add her notch to his stick of dead Slayers? Since when had he wanted to caress her and stroke her and hold her protectively?

OK, there was that engagement thing. Bloody little witch’s fault, that, not his. And he had stroked her hair when that berk Jonathan was running the place – but not in a good way, definitely not. No, he hated her and the minute, the very bloody minute he got that chip out he was going to drink her dry, drown in her blood, watch it gush all over him, run in trails down her neck, between those pert breasts, down again.

Bugger this. It had to be the dream, right? What’s more, he was trying to wake up now. Really trying. In between posing for photographs. What in hell was that about? And chatting to Rupes like they were some sort of friends? That was never going to happen. At least he was in his real clothes this time, but that didn't make it any better.

At some point he realised it wasn’t his own dream. It was the waiting round the corner with a whole bunch of their little Scooby-cronies, waiting to make a striking appearance. Just how humiliating could it get? That weirdo offering him the cheese but not letting him touch it shoulda been a clue. And the X-rated bit with Buffy with her pals and Peaches watching. Now that was fun. But not his dream, no sir. Never going to want that, not ever. Whatever Dru said.  
And the most humiliating bit of all? Some bugger had dreamed of him in a sodding brown tweed suit, like Rupert Giles might have dressed his brat in. Never in his entire unlife was anyone going to get him into a get-up like that.

So it was a nightmare, then. One he was glad to wake up from in his nice cool crypt. None of that stuff was ever going to happen. Other pillocks’ dreams, not his.

And he turned over to drift back to sleep, and the soft, demanding lips of a beautiful girl who was short and blonde and feisty. And definitely not in any way, shape or form, Buffy.


End file.
